


Second(hand) Chances

by Dziude



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dirty photos, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Gift Exchange, Gift Fic, M/M, Misunderstandings, Romance, Second-hand shops - who knows what you'll find, Smut solves everything, absolute shameless nonsense, beware the cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21609571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dziude/pseuds/Dziude
Summary: As the dust settles, Remus Lupin sets out to try and establish some version of a normal life. With a rented room and a part-time job, things are looking up. But with a certain testy Potions Master repeatedly crossing his path and the dubious antics of his employer-stroke-landlord, a peaceful life may yet again prove to be beyond his reach...
Relationships: Remus Lupin/Severus Snape
Comments: 13
Kudos: 61
Collections: Pen15 is Mightier Holiday Gift Exchange 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dameisaure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dameisaure/gifts).



> Happy Holidays! This was begun with the best intentions but it had to be finished in a bit of a rush, I've been climbing the walls a bit. But is what it is & hopefully still entertaining! 
> 
> I'll try to fix any big glaring "oops" as I go along. Thanks for reading and I hope my giftee likes it :)

It didn’t take long for things to “settle down” after the war. Even buoyed on the highest levels of desperate relief, here’s only so much ecstatic cavorting one can do. Grief floats, even in champagne, The harder you push it down, the more irrepressibly it bobs back up in the end.

And so, the parties petered out, and the clean-up began. Tears ebbed and flowed. Rage and reform at the Ministry came and went. The Wizarding community began to settle back down into a normal existence- or at least began to experiment with whatever that might be. Remus spent a few weeks at Grimmauld Place at Harry's insistence, pondering his next steps. Trying to catch his breath, though that proved nearly impossible. The walls of the old house loomed over him; the very air was thick with memories and regrets. Time stood still there, and even with the sporadic bustle of renewed life in the house, Sirius' absence choked him. 

The Ministry’s begrudging stipend turned out to be more promising than expected, when tallied up with the meagre contents of his bank account, and so after one morning he put down his mug in the echoing kitchen and set off to find himself a gaff.

He could have gone back to Hogwarts, of course, but the idea held little appeal. Too many ghosts there too, of both the literal and figurative varieties. He shivered. No, if ever there was a time for a fresh start, it was now. It should have been a relatively straightforward mission, but after the third awkward refusal, laced with faux-regret, he began to muse again on why things in his life rarely ended up being straightforward.

And that was how, at the mature and sensible age of 39, Remus Lupin ended up living alone above a magical rag’n’bone man’s dodgy little kingdom, checking random objects for leftover enchantments and unwittingly assisting in the distribution of lewd and improper magical photographs.

All the chat about a new dawn and a more liberal society aside, a lot of folk were still wary about taking on a werewolf as a tenant, and any chance of discretion or anonymity had been blasted away by the foghorn of the Daily Prophet. It was nearly four o'clock when Lupin found himself standing in front of Asmodeus Dingle: Quality Goods, staring at a clutch of grubby cards pasted against the warped glass of an ancient shop window.

“LOST CAT – LARGE TOM TABBY – ANSWERS TO “BASTARD” - IF SPOTTED, DO NOT APPROACH. DO NOT LISTEN TO ANYTHING HE TELLS YOU. REPORT AT ONCE.”

“HELP WANTED. APPLY WITHIN. NO ARSING ABOUT.”

“GOODS WANTED, FAIR PRICES PAID.”

“ROOMS TO RENT. GOOD RATES. THIS IS NOT THE RITZ.”

It wasn’t a prepossessing building by any means, but then none of the structures were much to look at. In a narrow wynd off Diagon Alley, Dingle's establishment squatted drunkenly between a rather dubious looking apothecary and an empty unit whose faded sign implied it may once have provided flying carpets and other enchanted upholstery. Even on a Monday afternoon, the street was deserted. Remus drew a deep breath and stepped inside. And blinked.

Stacks of books, magical items and Merlin only knew what else, towered everywhere. Several old bicycles swayed gently from the ceiling alongside a raggedy bundle of broomsticks. Haphazard piles of small furniture wavered skywards. Even looking at it all made Remus vaguely nervous as he edged forwards, trying not to brush against anything. An obelisk of bric-a-brac to his left shifted ominously in the draft as the door shut behind him.

The only reasonably clear path led towards a small fireplace and warped wooden counter at the back of the shop floor. An ancient kettle bubbled away absent-mindedly, Something vaguely feline eyed him suspiciously from the gloom between two listing bookshelves. A pervasive aroma of camphor, old books and kippers laced the dusty air. It was a peculiar place, all told. A lawless tangle of magical and muggle objects, all cluttered together in a great middle finger to the universe, laws of physics and good housekeeping. He made a mental note to ask if Arthur Weasley knew of it’s existence, then the thought of Molly's reaction. Perhaps not.

Something moved in a corner behind the counter, causing Remus to jump violently. The unseen inhabitant of the bookshelf made a snickering, hissing sound. Apparently the shop was not as deserted as it had appeared, and it was possible to be laughed at by a....cat?

Remus stared in confusion. The proprietor turned out to be a shifty looking old gent with a voluminous beard and alarmingly mobile eyebrows. They bobbed on the ridges and troughs of his ancient forehead as he spoke, like hairy little ships heaving on a rough sea. He peered at Remus suspiciously.

“Eh. We don't sell much clothes, but there might be some down the back, there. Vintage, like.”

“What?" Lupin blinked, non-plussed. "Er, no, excuse me. I'm here about the room?”

“Right. 20 Galleons a week. No nonsense. You keep to your business and leave me to mine.”

 _Well, in for a penny_... he thought, and stated baldly. “I'm a werewolf.”

“Then you may find your own furniture. And rent's the same, I'm not a bloody charity.”

Remus looked at the strange old man perched amidst the flotsam and jetsam of magical lives and wondered briefly if this was a good idea. Then he thought of the suffocating not-rightness of Grimmauld Place, and off he went to pack.


	2. Chapter 2

By the end of the first week, he'd mostly settled in with a collection of mismatched furniture and a few things Harry had insisted on sending from Grimmauld Place to get him started. The room was spacious and the house rules were simple, Remus discovered. Pay your rent sharp and keep to yourself. Don't offend the cat. No potions to be brewed in the house. Also, don't trust the cat. Don't be over-friendly to the neighbouring apothecary. Not that Remus had even seen the man yet, but his eccentric new landlord seemed to be nursing some deep-seated and lasting mistrust towards him. It hadn't seemed wise to probe further.

Dingle himself didn't seem quite wise, for that matter. He inhabited the cellar rooms of the building when he wasn't in the shop or out- and kept peculiar hours for that matter, tramping about at night with great lumpy packages stuffed into the pockets of his appalling overcoat. Sometimes he would return in the small hours, enlivened by Ogdens, and pace the boards, hissing imprecations about the price of broom repairs or haranguing the feline with rants about the Ministry's secretive nature and what they might be up to.

From time to time Lupin half wondered if he might be related to Xenophilius Lovegood- or Dung - or both perhaps. Now there was an appalling thought. He still wasn't quite sure if the cat's name really was "Bastard" or if the old coot was playing a trick on him, so he avoided naming it entirely.

Being on his own again had proved easier to get used to than he'd expected. It was like slipping on something well worn and familiar, threadbare and comforting. Loneliness came and went, as he sat down to dinner in his empty room, or stared up at the dark ceiling in the small hours, listening to Dingle shuffling around. At least he could face it on his own terms here, in his own space.

He'd mostly tried to stay out of Dingle's way initially, but that relative peace was not to last either. He should have known, really. A month or so after his arrival, he arrived home from another day of fruitless job-seeking to find the curtains smouldering. Dingle had propped himself up on a corner, covered in a great deal of soot and glaring down into a disgraceful looking old cauldron. It turned out the old man's knowledge of malevolent enchantments was rudimentary at best. The thing had arrived in with a new job lot and he hadn't noticed it was cursed at all. Until he went to inspect it and it blew up in his face. The nautical caterpillars had lurched around with great agitation as he ranted, slightly the worse for wear, until Lupin casually offered to investigate the object.

Two disabled charms and an exhausting hour or so later, Lupin found himself with a part time job.

The days went by quickly. Primarily he minded the shop and checked any items or boxes that came in and tried to co-exist peacefully with Bastard. Dingle reduced his rent to a token amount in return and seemed to spend more time mucking around in his subterranean lair. He posted the little piles of nondescript parcels that appeared at the end of the counter. He found himself chatting to the occasional customers that drifted through- and every so often, he even sold something. Since Dingle seemed to have no immediate luck with letting the second upstairs room, Remus had emptied it of it's spartan furnishings and warded himself inside when the full moon came.  
  
He dragged a bookshelf and a dusty shelf up from the shop to join Harry's forcefully bequeathed armchairs. He bought a rug and some plain, cheerful curtains. And when cautious optimism solidified into the expectation that he wouldn't have to move again in the immediate future, he even hung up a few pictures and accepted the care of a rather hardy looking plant from Neville Longbottom as a housewarming gift. He liked to sip his tea in the quiet morning and watch the sunlight. Because of the haphazard angles of the buildings, it welled up gradually until it spilled over the window frame, running across the worn boards of the table and bathing every oddly shaped leaf in a different shade.  
  
Each morning, he'd sit, he'd watch, and sometimes he'd wonder if this was what a normal life might feel like.


	3. Chapter 3

The first time Snape turned up, Remus was half submerged in the contents of an old trunk, trying to determine if it's previous owner's assertions that it was truly bottomless were correct. Mouldering lace frothed up unendingly to pool on the floor and tangle around his legs. A bride's trousseau which had been enchanted in some way? Anything was possible, he supposed.

He had heard the door chime, but it was the voice which followed that caused him start, tripping on the fabric and cracking his head on the trunk's lid. He swore.

"Remus Lupin. My, my, my..."

"Severus, goodness me. What a treat." he kept his voice light as he gingerly retreated from the luggage.  
  
Snape looked tired, but better than the last time Remus had set eyes on him. Granted that had been while the man was propped up in a hospital bed and doing his best impression of death-just-barely-warmed-up, but still. The man looked less strained, even with the ever-present scowl creasing his brows. Healthier. He appeared to still be wearing the robes he'd favoured at Hogwarts. The world may have been turned on its head several times over in recent years, but some things apparently did not change.   
  
The silence stretched out for a moment, prickling across his skin, and Remus was suddenly acutely aware of how grubby he must look. And a bit startled as to why that mattered. _Bugger._ Some other things apparently didn't change either.

"Were you looking for something in particular?"   
  
"I'm sure even you might be able to work that out Lupin." The look Snape was giving him was guarded, but not openly hostile- for Snape at least. Remus took a chance.  
  
"Lockhart's Guide to _Harmonising with Haints_ , third edition?" 

Snape stared.  
  
"Because we don't have that. I think I may have accidentally burned it. A rare item too- one that _wasn't_ signed. Sorry to disappoint."  
  
"Alas. My quest has been thwarted." Dry amusement had crept in, despite Snape's deadpan expression. "Whatever will I do now?"  
  
"Quest? Hmm. Well, we might have the Holy Grail hidden in here somewhere... anything's possible."  
  
"I'll bear that in mind- but for now, the more mundane. Cauldrons. Brewing equipment."  
  
"You're not setting up at the apothecary down the street, by any chance?"

"I've no desire to spend any more time in London than strictly necessary, Lupin."

He'd spent a good half hour prodding around despite this, gathering up prospective items and tolerating Remus' attempts at banter, though he deflected any casual queries into what he was currently doing with himself. Remus tactfully didn't ask why Snape was skulking around in his old teaching robes, looking for bits and pieces that had seen better days, and Snape seemed to avoid bringing up touchy subjects like lycanthropy, or Sirius Black.  
  
Something tense and thorny still lingered behind their conversation, but they _had_ managed to have one without direct insults. Or duelling. Sirius would be appalled, but Remus could only feel a cautious satisfaction. He'd half expected to hear that Snape had disappeared and started afresh on some tropical island. Well, perhaps not that, but something similar. With all that had happened over the past 20 years, he'd never thought there'd be a chance for- well, a truce. Amends. A couple of words. But here they were, and if there was any chance to draw a line under the past, he'd welcome it.

Their paths continued to cross sporadically as time passed. Every so often, Snape would appear to rifle through the stacks. Their exchanges became easier - still occasionally caustic or sarcastic on Snape's part, but without any real bite. Banter with Severus Snape, Remus reflected. Now there was a rather niche hobby.   
  
In his absence, a rather venerable owl would frequently drop a terse enquiry about the availability of storage containers or cauldron stands, and some pithy comment about Remus' organisational skills.  
  
Once, a note arrived with a direct order not to use any first-aid items kept by Dingle in the shop.   
  
_Such fossils may have lost their efficacy down the centuries and are best left as artifacts for the mystification of future generations. Additionally, they may have been shit to begin with. ~S.S.  
_  
Attached was a small, dark-tinted jar of burn salve. Remus nearly fell off his stool.

"Bastard" had startled him the day before, causing him to upend a scalding mug of tea over his hand. He'd cursed the beast soundly, wrapped his hand lightly in some breathable gauze to keep it clean, and tried to put it out of his mind. Snape hadn't mentioned it, but lack of comment obviously hadn't indicated a lack of observation. Remus drifted around in a haze of pleased astonishment for the rest of the day.  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Winter had well and truly over-ruled the last echoes of Autumn by the time anything decent arrived that would be interesting to Severus. He never said when he'd be back in, but it was often a Wednesday and he hadn't been around recently. Remus felt an odd bubble of...excitement perhaps? as he hauled the box out from under the counter and poked through it. Stirring rods, a couple of small cauldrons, some rather pretty vials that stank to high heaven- all sorts of smaller things. It was a reasonable amount of equipment.

Remus had been carefully _not-thinking_ about what he was doing as he'd collected up any potions-related bits and pieces and set them aside over the last few weeks. Their strange little truce still seemed rather fragile, and Snape hadn't visited the shop since around Hallowe'en. He might turn around at any moment and decide socialising wasn't worth the effort. He might decide he had enough kit, and just never reappear. Remus had been rather determinedly _not-thinking_ about that possibility also.  
  
The knife lay on the counter, resting on a scrap of antique cloth. Firelight gleamed dully on the sickle-shaped blade. It needed a polish, and sharpening too, but Remus had hesitated. He wasn't quite sure if there was some particular way that should be done, depending on what you'd be harvesting with it. He settled for a gentle cleaning charm and a rub with a soft cloth. The handle was carved out of old bone, stark yellow-white against the little curves of dark wood which had been inlaid in to form an abstract, swirling pattern.  
  
It was a beautiful thing, in its way. Light and dark and dangerous... and practical. He hadn't really thought about giving it to Snape. The idea had sprouted as a foregone conclusion as soon as Remus had pulled it out of a box. Dingle had named a surprisingly reasonable price when Remus had approached him about it and only offered a terse reminder that there was not to be any brewing in the house.  
  
And so Remus found himself wrapping a Christmas present for Severus Snape.

"I'm losing the plot, aren't I?"  
  
 _It's not talking to yourself if the cat is here, surely._ Bastard stretched lazily but didn't deign to comment. _Or perhaps it's only time to worry when the animals start talking back?  
  
_ He placed the gift on top of the other items in Snape's box and replaced it on the floor behind the counter. If the man didn't appear, perhaps he could send it when he dropped off the parcels in the morning.   
  
A strange mechanical twittering sound announced the arrival of five o'clock with a cloud tiny magical birds. They glittered beautifully as they soared five times around their startlingly ordinary wooden clock before swooping back inside. It was strange that the maker had let the birds sound like that since there was nothing mechanical about the clock, and the birds were so obviously magical. He often wondered about it, in the same way Bastard wondered why he could never catch them -idly and without real hope of a satisfactory answer.  
  
Time to close up.  
  
He dealt with the fire and checked the shop door. He closed the shutters and extinguished the lights. A little routine he'd settled into now, every evening. The cat watched him indolently, unmoving until he finally reached the door to upstairs... then streaked across the room. It rushed between his feet and down the hallway with a yowling hiss. This was part of the evening routine too.  
  
Something fell over in the darkness, rustling to the floor. Remus sighed. Dingle's pile of mysterious small parcels, by the noise. Nothing that couldn't wait for morning.  
  
 _Mad animal._ He locked the door and set off upstairs.  
  



	5. Chapter 5

  
  
It's a well known fact that the hours between lunchtime and knocking-off time on a Friday are generally the longest and most tedious of the working week.   
The only other real contender is Monday morning - or any morning one has to work after _indulging_ the night before. The "Three S's", Sirius had called them- Swigging, Shagging and Shenanigans. As Remus' life had been notably empty of all of the above for some time, he had to conclude that his awareness of the glacial speed of passing time meant something else was wrong with him.

_Restless Old Wanker syndrome, perhaps._

Snow had begun to fall heavily the night before and persisted on and off through the morning. Not a soul had ventured past the door all day. Dingle had taken himself off to Merlin-knew-where, and even Bastard had gone off about his own business. Bored out of his skin, he'd finished his book, tidied up twice, and even finally gotten around to answering his letters. 

He was just trying to compose a polite excuse to dodge some festive humbuggery at the Ministry when the door slammed open.  
  
"LUPIN! Is this your idea of a joke, werewolf?" Snape came in roaring.

 _What the hell?_  
  
The man was disheveled, absolutely irate- and Remus hadn't the faintest idea why. He dropped his feet from the worktop and pushed the chair back, keeping it between them. For all the good that would do.  
  
"What on earth-?"  
  
"WHO TOLD YOU THEN?" He was stalking towards Remus now. Plaster dust rained down as the door crashed shut behind him.  
  
"Snape-"

"Your little friends are all dead, Lupin. Was that it? ONE LAST LAUGH AT MY EXPENSE? Even if you're the only one left?!"  
  
Now Remus was angry too.   
  
"WOULD YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP A MINUTE." His hands were somehow on Snape's robes, yanking him forward against the counter. Snape froze.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, you absolute _horse's arse!"_ he growled. "You've blasted your way in here, ranting like a madman, _  
_

"Don't play the fool!" Snape sneered, tossing something down with disgust. Remus pushed him back to reach for it.  
  
It was a small packet of rough brown paper, slit open at one end. A handful of photographs poured out as he picked it up, spilling across his unfinished correspondence.  
  
Magical photographs, their subjects animated but frozen in the actions and attitudes of the minutes when they were taken. Some in colour, some in artistic black and white - and none of the sort that would win _The Prophet's_ monthly photography competition.  
  
A strapping wizard with a neatly trimmed moustache was staring up at them, flexing and stretching his muscles- without a stitch on him. Two young men wearing some semblance of Quidditch costumes were writhing together on a bench. A stern looking man in auror's robes pushing a scruffy looking character up against a wall in a way that was definitely not standard procedure. Remus could see the glint of cuffs at his wrists. Several more poked out from underneath- a library perhaps? and a classroom scene?  
  
Thinking back on it later, Remus suspected the look on his face might have been worth a picture by itself. He gaped. His cheeks burned.He glanced up at the still enraged Snape, found he couldn't look at him properly, dropped his eyes back to the pictures... and tried to scoop them back into the packet. Blood was thumping in his ears.  
  
"Ehm. Right. I take it you're angry about these pictures, Severus. Just not sure why you've brought them to _me_."  
  
" _You_ sent them to me. For _some reason._ " Snape hissed. "I thought i'd return them."   
  
"I did no such thing! The only thing I sent you was...."   
  
Remus stared down at the nondescript brown paper in his hand. And something clicked. "Oh, for the love of..... _Dingle_."  
  
" _What_."  
  
"Amadeus Dingle! He owns the shop, though he's not here when he can get away with it. He leaves parcels here for posting- about once a week. A whole stack of them. " Remus ran a hand through his hair. "The randy old goat! I assumed he was selling small stuff- jewellery maybe, through the classified ads."  
  
Snape was still regarding him with suspicion, but looked rather like the wind had been ripped from his sails.  
  
"I'm sorry, Severus. One of his parcels must have fallen into your box. I had no idea."  
  
The wind whistled in the chimney. The fire crackled and spat in defiance. And awkward silence reigned over all.


	6. Chapter 6

Remus flicked his wand at the kettle and cleared his throat.  
  
"I'd offer you something stronger, but I think we've had enough of Dingle's secret stashes for today."  
  
After the shouting had subsided, Snape had gone quiet. For once, he didn't seem to know what to do with himself. But he hadn't left either, to Remus' relief.  
  
Now he sat stiffly in Remus' chair staring into his cup. Remus had locked the door and perched himself on the counter to sip his tea. If ever there was a reason to close up early, this was it.   
  
"I apologise. Lupin. " The words were stiff, when they finally came. "Perhaps I overreacted."  
  
"For the record, Severus, I don't spend my time plotting against you in obscure ways. Apology accepted. Though I _would_ like an explanation."  
  
"It doesn't matter."  
  
"Oh no, I think not! Go on, what did you think I was trying to do?"

"I assumed you were trying to... provoke me, in some way. Either to taunt me or imply... something."  
  
"As far as I knew, I just sent you some potions stuff and a Christmas present." Remus said carefully. "Nothing more.  
  
Remus felt like he was walking a tightrope. Snape was a prickly git- If he got this wrong... Well. That would be the end of that.  
  
"There's been more than enough embarrassment for today I think. I just have one question, really. If I _had_ meant to send those photos- if I _had_ been implying something, would you have been more angry, less?"  
  
There was a ringing silence. Snape didn't reply, but he'd neither swept out of the shop nor knocked Remus off the counter. Instead, he stood up.  
  
The shop was cramped to start with, and the space between them all of a sudden seemed smaller than ever. Snape was staring, as though he'd never seen him before. Remus felt pinned like a butterfly, something being examined under a microscope. The tension was palpable. Visceral. Vital. It sang across his skin and pooled in his gut. He tried to moisten his lips. Snape's breath hitched. _Oh._  
  
Remus grabbed him, pulling him slowly forward by the front of his robes. Giving him time to pull away. Nothing. Then there was only warm breath and Snape's lips on his. It was clumsy at first, then Severus' hands came up to tangle in his hair, tilting his head, and Everything. Fit. _Oh, Sweet Merlin._  
  
Slow as it was, there was something desperate in this kiss, something just on the edge of animal, and it stole his breath. His blood went too, rushing straight from his brain to his cock. Remus pulled back slightly, trying to get his balance, but Severus followed. He stepped forward and pulled Remus' to the edge of the worktop, kissing him ferociously, and time seemed to stutter, the minutes only dimly registering in fragments of sensation. Hot, slick, demanding kisses. The slight rasp of stubble against his cheek. Hard hands on his shoulders. The sharp nip of teeth at his bottom lip made him gasp, bucking his hips forward.   
  
Severus pushed back, groaning against his mouth- and then he was pressing Remus back to lie across the scarred wood to lie over him. His thigh was a solid, maddening weight between Remus' legs and he ground his hips upwards, slowly, deliberately.  
  
"Lupin..." Severus' voice was rather hoarse. "Ah!" Remus did it again. "What do you want...."  
  
The friction of his damp clothing, of the other man's body on top of him, was maddening.

 _This is it. I finally get what I want, and i'll die of a bloody heart attack while being humped into next week, atop a "fuck you" to the Ministry and a pile of dirty photos. What a way to go!  
  
_ Sheer, giddy laughter threatened to erupt. He pushed it away, clamping his hands onto Severus' arse urging him on. Someone was panting harshly, and he couldn't be sure it wasn't himself.  
  
It suddenly occurred to him that they should at least get the rid of the trousers, but hey were rocking together in earnest now and it was probably a bit late for that. Severus pushing hard against him and making the most obscene noises.  
  
"Are you close, Severus? "Remus turned his head to nip at Severus' ear. "Did you think about this? Us, fucking across the counter?"

"Ah! Lupin.." _Jesus Christ._

"Are you going to come, Severus? Oh, _fuck-_ want to see what you look like. I'm going to - _ah -_ all over myself- because of _you-"_

Snape's movements became erratic, then he cried out, thrusting wildly against the man pinned beneath him. _  
  
The look on your face...oh god. So close._  
  
Remus squirmed desperately, searching for friction. Then Snape pulled back, and firm hands were on him. One slipped down to grip his arse, kneading flesh and muscle as Remus flexed up against him. The other came round to grip his cock through the cloth, and Remus almost wept with relief. Snape was looming over him, face flushed, lips parted, pinning him with that intense stare. Rubbing him off through his trousers.   
  
And then Snape was kissing him again, forcefully, and those hands on him, relentless. Stroking, rubbing and-  
 _  
Holy fuck._ He fell over the edge, straining upwards, grunting against Severus' lips.  
  


* * *

 _  
  
_It hadn't been hard to convince Snape to come upstairs, once realisation of their rather exposed position dawned on him.  
  
The fire was burning low. Bastard was plastered across one of the armchairs, having retreated from their antics downstairs. He gifted them both with a truly filthy glare and slunk off into the wardrobe.  
The house was silent. Things could have been awkward, but Remus didn't give it a chance, pulling Severus down on the sofa and settling in beside him.  
  
"Lupin?" 

"Hmm?"   
  
"It's rather bad manners to keep your guests sitting around in...discomfort."  
  
"That's what cleaning charms are for. Unless you need some assistance?"

Snape snorted, but Remus felt the prickle of magic flaring over his skin, rustling his clothes.

_"Lupin?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Did you say you sent me a Christmas present?"  
  
"You colossal arse. You didn't even look through the rest of the box, did you?"_

_"The photographs were rather distracting."  
  
"Touché." Remus sighed dramatically. _ _"I suppose I'll have to let you go home at some point before Christmas"  
_

_"I take it you didn't know what was in the parcels. Is he selling them?"  
_

_"He must be. I had no idea. He does all sorts of odd things- he's gone off somewhere to do god knows what. Actually, I used to be curious. Now i'd rather not think about it.  
I suppose that means I'll be opening up the shop tomorrow."_

_"Lupin?"  
  
"For Heaven's sake, Severus. Remus..."  
  
"Remus?"   
_

_"Hmm?"_  
  
"Be quiet."

 _"_ Normality" is rather a vague ideal, he reflected later, head resting on Severus' chest. This might do quite well enough to be getting on with.


End file.
